if

if there is no door then i dream of a door

holding my own hand while asleep. 

frightened ankle flinches forward propelling 

beyond the curves and bends, and what lies ahead 

is five more minutes of flinching, sternum to cheekbones

temples to ribs, madrona trees 

to soil, sound. but i dream of a door 

with my fingertips to my forehead, i touch the talisman and the wheel 

if there is no door then i dream of a door 

with the blush of naivety 

no distance of doubt, a hand reaching

across striped bed sheets

sleeping, waiting, hoping

if there is no door then i dream of a door

into worlds of the same different song

and colors, a childhood, the depth behind 

my eyelid and the images my mother 

brushes my hair my father makes me laugh and

my brother is my brother is my brother is my brother

i am the alchemist and the architect 

there is always a door 

because i dream of a door 

even if, even when, especially and always then